


You're No Damsel in Distress

by chutzpaz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chutzpaz/pseuds/chutzpaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there's no real plot, Stiles doesn't know when to shut up, and Derek is a sour patch kid. Written after episode 2x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me, this is my first fic. Or don't- concrit is great. Let me know if anyone's out of character or... i don't know, if something's weird. Anyways, thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh, and disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf or any of the characters associated with it.

“Up, up, up,”

“Unggg.”

“It’s noon on a Saturday, Stiles, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Noon- oh-”

You moan, discontent. Yeah, it’s Saturday, and, oops, you told Scott you’d come over two hours ago. But your bed is nice and warm and you don’t really want to leave. You linger for a few moments and you hear your dad sigh and mutter something from behind the door as he leaves.

For a second you consider going back to sleep, because Scott can wait. Then again, some information about what was going on last night would be pretty helpful, please and thank you.

So you pull yourself up off the bed with a groan, stretching your legs. You head off to the shower, because even after scrubbing yourself raw the previous night, you were in a dumpster and that’s definitely grounds for taking as many showers as you want. You allow yourself extra time, letting the hot water run over your body and wow, it feels good, you didn’t realize how sore your muscles were.

As the hot water slowly begins to wake you up, you start to notice the pounding on the side of your head. It’s definitely becoming more painful. Tentatively, you press on it and woah, that’s definitely going to need some ice. You scrub yourself as best as you can while avoiding the numerous bruises on your body- seriously, this whole werewolf business is not good for your skin at all- and grab a towel as you walk out of the bathroom.

“Stiles,” your dad says, passing by. “I was just looking for you- Scott’s downstairs and-”

You interrupt him with a quick “Thanks, dad,” and rush downstairs, ignoring the strange look he’s giving you.

“Oh my god, Stiles, where have you even been? I- wait, put some clothes on,” Scott says, and yeah, that would be a good idea, and yeah, normal people give other people strange looks when they go to greet company with nothing but a towel on.

“Right,” you say, motioning for him to follow. Honestly, you’re both past the point of anything being embarrassing between the two of you. So you climb the stairs leisurely, but Scott seems to be rushing you. He’s jumpy today, and probably for good reason.

When you get to your room, Scott closes and locks the door behind you, sniffing the air to sense where your dad is in the house. Kind of creepy, but it does work. As soon as he’s satisfied with the privacy, he takes a seat in your computer chair. You plop down on the edge of the bed, slip off the towel, and you speak as you’re tugging on some boxers. “So what’s up with Boyd? And Derek?”

“Boyd was bitten,” he says, a grimace on his face and truthfully you can’t blame him.

“Well? Tell me everything. I didn’t get knocked out and thrown into the trash just to hear three words.”

“Erica and Issac were there- at the ice rink. They’re part of his pack, now.”

“Well, yeah, we got that, captain obvious. What happened after they showed up?”

Scott grimaces again and says nothing as he lifts his shirt. There are swollen red bite marks on his side, and a sense of déjà vu hits you when you remember- it’s the same place he was bitten before, when he was first turned.

Except this time, it’s still there.

“Why… why hasn’t it healed?” you ask.

“God, Stiles, I don’t know,” and Scott’s got that look on his face that says ‘I’m so lost, what am I supposed to do now,’ that he usually gets in class. His eyes are wide as he runs his fingertips over the bite mark, lightly, like somehow he’ll figure out how to make it go away. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “And I can feel it- it doesn’t feel like it’s going to heal at all.”

Something clicks in your brain. You snap your fingers, and Scott looks up.

“Who bit you?” you ask, and Scott shakes his head.

“Derek, of course.”

“Well. He’s the alpha, see- He’s trying to assert dominance over you as part of the pack. But you’re not part of the pack, so your body fights the bite.”

The room is silent. You take the chance to pull on jeans and a t-shirt while you wait for Scott to process the information, even though you can tell Scott already knows.

“Aghhh,” he says, leaning his head back on your computer chair and squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m going to have to join his pack, aren’t I,” and it’s not really a question the way he says it.

“Probably,” you confirm, and he bangs his head backwards, meeting only thin air and causing the chair to rock backwards. It collapses onto the floor, taking Scott with it.

“Ow,” he says, and yeah, neither of you know what to do at all and the whole entire situation is becoming fucked up beyond belief.

“Maybe it’s not that bad, you know. He did say he’d protect you-us-you?”

“Us.”

“Alright then, us. He said he’d protect us. You’re not exactly a damsel in distress- well, unless you count the time where you wore that dress for the middle school play, and you got it caught in the fan-

“Stiles.”

 “Right. Anyways, you might not think you need help, but with the Argents… well, at least some of them…”

“I get it. Wolves are stronger in a pack,” Scott says, and he picks himself up off the floor, settling into a sitting position where he buries his head in his hands. “The same pack that I beat up last night after Derek told them to fight me. Because I wouldn’t join. Because I was trying to get Boyd not to.”

“Well… they’re not going to hate you too much. People can have a change of heart.”

“And how do I know Derek won’t?” Scott yells, pulling at his hair. “How do I know he’s not going to go back on his word? How do I know he’s not going to let something happen to Allison? How can I trust him?”

“Right, you can’t trust him, but you’ve got to trust that wolves? They’re loyal to the pack, and unless for some reason some werewolf in history decided, ‘nope, I’m not doing the loyalty thing, we can mess with someone in the future, let’s just completely decimate our chances of survival,’ then yeah, if you join the pack, Derek’s going to be loyal to you.”

“You’re saying you trust him?”

“I’m saying that, following the logic about the parallels between wolf and werewolf packs… maybe it’d be in your best interest to join. Even if it’s only to heal that wound.”

Scott is silent.

“So…” you prompt.

A sigh. “I’ll go find him. Later.”

“Atta boy.”

 

 ---

 

Derek’s not at his house.

“Something’s not right, Stiles, let’s get out of here,” Scott urges in a whisper. It’s nearing sunset, the shadows are long and frightening, and the two of you are standing alone on Derek’s doorstep. It’s _still_ really creepy, no matter how many times you’ve been here.

“I’ve been wishing we could leave the second we got-”

_Click._

You turn around. Guns are pointed at your face.

“Here,” you finish weakly.

“Shit,” Scott adds. You agree.

“Down, down, put down the guns,” someone says, and they drop to the side of the men holding them. “Go back,” comes the voice again, and the men leave as- shit- Allison’s dad comes up behind them, one firm and bruising hand on each of your shoulders. People should seriously pay more attention to your skin, or it’s going to start being black and blue permanently.

“Boys,” he says.

“Mr. Argent,” you say, and both he and Scott glare at you, like, ‘if you haven’t already, you should consider getting a ‘shut up, Stiles’ button installed in your head.’

He pulls the both of you back, into the house. It smells different, no longer woodsy even though you’re kind of in the middle of the woods. It smells like disinfectant and guns. “Sit,” he commands, and you and Scott obediently drop onto one of the threadbare couches. “Boys,” he says again, and he shakes his head. “Listen to me. I don’t want to hurt you, whatever you may believe.”

Scott shakes his head, opens his mouth to interrupt, but Mr. Argent waves a hand to silence him. “I’ve got a moral code, and I follow it. The two of you are kids, and that’s the only reason you’re not already dead.”

“That’s contradictory,” you mutter to yourself.

Mr. Argent turns towards you and gives you a look that says he kills small animals in his free time.

“I’ll rephrase. I would like very much to hurt you. But I have a moral code. I will not. Children should not be killed.”

“That’s not what Gerard seems to think,” Scott blurts out, and in a second Mr. Argent is face-to-face with him, a hand creeping dangerously towards his gun.

“One of you _killed_ my _sister_ ,” he says through gritted teeth, and he looks like he’s making a conscious effort not to shoot Scott in the head. “I have every right- _every right_ \- to kill you right now. But I won’t.”

Scott’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You’d better thank whoever you believe in that he is not here right now. Now get out and never, never let me see you again, or I _will_ kill you,” he practically shouts in Scott’s face.

“Come on,” you mutter, and Scott’s definitely getting that dangerous glint in your eyes, and you should get out now. You grab Scott by the neck of his t-shirt and practically drag him out of the house as he growls at Mr. Argent.

Maybe you should run track instead of playing lacrosse because seriously, you make it out of the woods in record time, booking it to your jeep as fast as you can. Which is pretty fast.

You’re catching your breath, but Scott hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“I’m not afraid of him! I could take him!” he says. Whines, really.

“Well, personally, I was pretty terrified.” You lean against the jeep.

“I could’ve, Stiles, I-”

“Okay, okay, everyone gets it, you’re strong and powerful now. But what good would it do, really? He’s your girlfriend’s dad. You can’t just attack him.”

“I could, if-“

“Yeah, you could, and devastate Allison.”

Scott growls. “Why does everything happen to me,” he says, and he’s definitely whining now.

“Because…” you start, then trail off as headlights illuminate the road. Both you and Scott jump to hide behind the jeep before recognizing Derek’s car. He pulls up to the jeep while you circle around it, stopping in front of the driver side window. He rolls it down.

“Get in,” he says, and unlocks the back door.

“Where are you going?” Scott asks.

“Shopping,” Derek replies, and he grins. Creepy.

“Oh my god, you can’t do this. You can’t seriously pull up to us in a car and tell us you’re going shopping without quoting Mean Girls. It’s against the law. I’d know, my dad’s a policeman.”

Derek looks at you.

“Get in, losers, we’re going shopping? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“You can’t seriously be alive in this generation,” Scott adds, faking disbelief.

“I think he’d like the movie, don’t you?” you ask, climbing into the car after Scott. Derek just rolls his eyes.

As soon as the door clicks behind you, Derek speeds off and-

“Wait a second, go back, my car-”

Derek goes faster.

 

\---

 

You don’t really go shopping, unless grocery shopping counts. Derek buys beer and chips and cheap pizza and you and Scott don’t question it until you get in the car, toting plastic grocery bags.

“Why did you pick us up for this?” Scott asks.

Derek turns to him and lowers his sunglasses- seriously, the dude’s wearing sunglasses at 8 at night- revealing his eyes and a raised eyebrow. Also revealing his inability to keep his eyes on the road.

“Erica wanted you at her party,” he says, and shrugs.

“You’re throwing her a party. Out of everything, a party,” you say, and Derek nods. You’re not exactly in the mood for a party, especially not with werewolves. And especially not after leaving your car vulnerable in the middle of the woods.

“She’s part of my pack. If she wants a party… She won’t hurt anyone. I’ll make sure of it.”

You kind of believe him. After all, he’s the alpha. He was able to keep Issac in line.

Scott coughs in his hand, clears his throat. “About that. The pack, thing.”

“No. I got it. You want in, you’re in.”

Scott looks a little surprised. You mouth ‘I told you so,’ to him, and he rolls his eyes.

The car ride is short and silent, and when you pull up to what you assume to be Erica’s house, there’s already music blasting from inside the house. People are in the yard and though they’re probably not drunk yet, you guess they’re waiting to be. You get out of the car and when you start pulling beer out is when people start noticing you. You lug the bags into the house, followed by Derek and Scott and a number of others who are waiting on the beer.

You drop the case on the table and turn around to go… whatever, you don’t even know what you want to do. You spot Boyd in the corner with Issac and you don’t really feel like going over there. Scott’s talking to Derek and by the look on their faces- or Scott’s face, really- they’re discussing more werewolf stuff. No, thanks.

So instead, you plop down on the couch by yourself, opening a beer. You sit and observe people. Mostly people from school, some people you don’t know…

“Hey.”

“Woah, oh- Hey, Erica, uh, hi.” Your hand involuntarily reaches up to touch the bruise on the side of your head.

She tracks the movement. “Sorry about that… Stiles. Forgive me..?” and she’s so insincere it hurts, seriously, she’s wearing some obscenely low cut top again which is pretty much torture because you’re trying not to look at her but there’s nowhere else to look. “Come on, Stiles.”

You gulp and, okay, she parts her mouth, no no no, no. You get up and you realize you’ve already finished your beer, so you toss the empty can on the couch.

“Uh, yeah yeah, I forgive you and all, sure. I’ve got to use the bathroom.” You quickly push past her, oops, was that boob contact? Oh my god, okay.

“Bye, Stiles,” Erica says, and winks.

The crowd is thinner by the stairs, and upstairs is basically deserted- probably a bathroom somewhere downstairs, then. Whatever. Alone is good, you decide. The bathroom here is clean and likely to remain vomit free. You piss quickly and wash your hands with the lavender-scented soap that smells like old lady.

You push open the door, drying off your hand on the towel and-

"Holy-"

You jump back, slamming the door shut and bumping into the sink. “Oh my god,” you shout through the door. “That’s terrifying. Stop it.”

The door opens again, from the other side. Derek’s standing there, completely still, and frankly it's way too creepy.

"Okay. Woah. What do you want?”

Derek steps closer.  "Do you want the bite?”

He says it so casually, like he's asking what's for dinner. As if he wasn’t terrorizing the living hell out of a teenage boy in an abandoned bathroom and wow that wasn’t weird at all.

You gulp. “Uhm, ah, you know what, I think I’ll have to pass.”

“Really,” Derek says, eyebrow raised. He steps closer again and you back up.

“You really have no concept of personal space, do you,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, you need to understand, you know, I have my personal bubble space-”

“About the bite.”

“Oh.”

You breathe out and hoist yourself up onto the sink countertop, while Derek steps into the bathroom all the way and closes the door. It’s a little unnerving.

“You’re smart. You’d make a good addition. Reconsider.”

Man, Derek really doesn’t mince words.

“Reconsider what? Having to be chased by hunters? Locked up during the full moon?”

“Strength. Power. Speed.”

You fiddle with some objects on the countertop- a comb, lipstick, soap. You’re just distracting yourself… You’re not actually considering it, definitely not. Finally you respond, “Yeah, I’d think the cons outweigh the pros in this case. I’m not as desperate as the others, alright, I don’t need this-”

Derek cuts you off. “If you’re part of the pack- I can sense you. Sense danger. I can offer protection.

You set down the stuff you were toying with, and look Derek straight in the eye. Damn frightening. “Because giving the Argents more reason to hunt me down is great protection.”

“No.”

“Then, what? Because right now the only pro I see is better lacrosse skills and I can live without that.”

“No-  not just the Argents,” Derek says, and leans against the door, listening. Moments later, you hear the giggles and smooching sounds of some couple outside, and Derek lowers his voice. “Other werewolves. Other creatures.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve managed to protect myself so far,” and you slide off the counter. Derek puts up a hand to stop you.

“There are things you don’t know about.”

“You know what would help would be if you told me what those things were.”

Derek looks unsure of himself. That's new. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah? Great, good. Well,” you say, attempting to push past Derek and open the door, “I don’t need the bite. Sorry.”

“You need the protection,” Derek says through his teeth, and he looks mad. Oops. He grabs your arm and shoves you back, preventing you from leaving.

“Why are you so intent on protecting me, anyways?”

“It was Scott’s condition for joining the pack,” he says, and you sigh, running your hand over your hair.

“Let me guess- Allison, too, make sure sh-”

Derek holds up a hand to shush you. There's the sound of breaking glass, and then- a scream. It comes from the bedroom across the hall, with the couple. Creaking, then, and some unidentifiable monster-like growl that doesn't sound like anything you've heard before. Moments later, screams echo from somewhere downstairs.

“Oh my god,” you say, and Derek wrenches open the door, taking off towards the stairway.

You follow, and he turns back to face you. “Reconsider,” he says, and he’s off.

You can hear car engines, now, and the screams are becoming more distant as everyone leaves the party. At least, you hope it's everyone.

A door slams, downstairs, and you breathe a sigh of relief before realizing that while everyone else might be safe you're still stuck. You run down the stairs- which have claw marks on them, not a good sign- and your heart is pounding, because you’re going crazy wondering who it was. Who transformed, who saw, was it Scott?

Downstairs, you slow a little, stopping at the foot of the stairs. The house is eerily quiet- and a huge mess. Two lamps are broken, leaving the room mostly illuminated by moonlight coming in through a broken window. Beer cans and empty pizza boxes are pretty much everywhere, and it's way too early in the night for a house to look like this. At least no one's there, and that's a good sign, you guess.

You gulp and take a step forward. The door looks weird- shut, but hanging off of it's hinges and you curse Derek for leaving you behind. Saving his own ass, you think. Slowly, you approach the door- something creaks, to your left- and you notice that your breathing is getting faster, heart rate rising, you’re so used to damn heart rates now because of Scott, and you hear something clatter again, this time to your right and oh my god.

Behind you, a growl.

You spin, facing darkness and red eyes and it- Derek? It tackles you to the ground with a “Watch out!” just as something pounces on the space you were previously occupying. Derek it is, then.

He growls again, louder this time, at whatever tried to attack you. You can't see it at first, but then Derek looks up. You follow his eyes, heart pounding, and- oh, it's on the ceiling- black, scaly, and holy mother of god what is that thing.

“Out,” he yells, and you waste no time scrambling up and sprinting. There's a throbbing pain in your ankle now, and great, another injury. But it doesn't stop you from running like hell, and you wrench open the door. It rips off of the last hinge and you take a little moment to congratulate yourself on how strong you are, because hey, technically you tore down a door.

The moment's pretty short-lived, of course, because you're running for your life.

Despite the pain in your ankle, you make it out across the street, and Scott's there with the rest of the pack. It’s strange to think of it like that, but you don't know what else to refer to them as, because they're sure as hell not your friends. “You good?” Scott asks, and you nod, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself and catch your breath. The others are chatting quietly, wondering aloud what that thing was. In the distance, you can hear police sirens and wonder if they’re coming here.

The quiet is broken when there’s a loud crash and the creature leaps out of a window. Your breath catches in your throat for a second, but it doesn’t attack, what with four beta werewolves baring their teeth at it. You watch it disappear down the street. It looks lopsided as it runs.

You’re all silent for a second.

“Shouldn’t we stop it?” Issac asks once Derek comes out of the house.

“I doubt it’s going to be a problem for the rest of tonight,” he says, and everyone seems to agree when they catch sight of the ink-colored blood that covers his entire upper body. Gross.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and that’s when you hear the screech. The police sirens stop.

 

\---

 

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay.”

You draw a shuddering breath. You’re on a bench, the one at the hospital, with your head on Scott’s lap. You’re sweating. Policemen are walking past you with looks of pity on their face, and it’s horrible but you wonder why it couldn’t have been them.

Them, and not your father.

The official report stated that it was a wolf they ran into, that smashed into the police car and caused it to crash. Except no wolf could survive a crash like that, and no body was found at all. Nothing but unidentifiable black goo. The blood.

Lucky, they say, that only one car was damaged. Lucky that other policemen were around to help, because otherwise the man inside could have died. Your dad.

Somehow, you’re thinking it’s your fault. You were in the house and somehow the lizard creature was able to find your scent. It matched with your father’s and that’s who it went after. There’s no other explanation in your mind. Why else would it be him? His car wasn’t even at the front or back, nothing to make it stand out among the other cars. Third from the front. Right in the middle.

You shudder again, and Scott’s back to stroking your forehead, shushing you. It’s not like you, you realize, to need to be taken care of. But it’s your dad, and the situation is far too similar to the one that took your mom from you and you can't deal with it. You’re not exactly sure whether the liquid on your face is sweat or tears.

Erica’s being questioned about what happened in her house- of course, ‘wolf’ is the story she’s telling them. Derek’s sitting calmly at your other side in a fresh shirt. Boyd and Issac are sitting down across from you, watching you with sad eyes. You hate it.

You’re powerless and weak and your father is dying and you _hate_ it.

You know it's stupid and impulsive and honestly you don't know what you're thinking, but.. there’s really nothing you can do, nothing really, except- “Derek,” you whisper, and your lips crack and the pain is a good thing. The pain means you’re alive.

He turns to you, slowly, his eyes flashing red for a second. “You considered.”

You lick your lips, moisturizing them. “Yes.”

“And your answer?”

You don’t want to be Robin. You don’t want to be the damsel in distress.

Scott’s looking at the two of you, eyes darting back and forth, and when he realizes what’s going on his eyes go wide. “Stiles. Stiles, no, you can’t, there’s other things you can do-”

You don’t listen because you already know. You're stupid, you're messing up your life, you're making the wrong decision. But you don’t take your eyes off Derek.

“The bite,” Derek prompts again, and you ignore Scott.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Derek bites.

You’re in your car- the jeep, which Boyd picked up a little while ago- only you and Derek. Scott looked at you with pained eyes that said ‘you should know better,’ but he didn’t try to stop you. You don’t know whether to be grateful or mad.

At the moment, you feel almost drunk. The ceiling of your jeep is blurry as you stare at it, and your thoughts are disjointed. Everything seems unreal. You’re still surprised when the bite comes.

“Ow, ow,” you groan, and you twist your body sideways. He bit you on the wrist, and you bring it up close to your face so you can examine it. It’s bleeding, but only barely.

“I didn’t bite you,” Derek says in way of explanation.

“Well, you kind of did.”

“Not the bite that’ll turn you. I used my human teeth,” he says, and you sit up. You look at his face in the diluted yellowish light of your jeep and it looks soft. Or maybe it’s just how fuzzy your brain is right now. Everything looks soft.

“Blood,” you say, and he licks his bottom lip where your blood stains it.

“They gave you drugs.”

“Hmmm?”

“In the glass of water you had at the hospital. There was something in it. I can…” he pauses. “I can taste it.”

“Oh,” you say, and drugs is a much better explanation as to why everything’s fuzzy. A better explanation than grief. At least you can blame it on heavy medication rather than the inner workings of your seriously fucked-up brain.

“You’re not in your right mind,” he says, and you agree. You fall back onto the seat of the car, your hand on your forehead.

“So no bite?”

“No bite,” he echoes.

“Nngh,” you say, and turn to look at him again. He’s got this expression on his face, and you’re reminded of the policemen in the hospital. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Like you pity me.”

He looks you straight in the eyes, when you expected him to turn away. “No,” he says slowly. “No, not pity. I just understand.”

“Oh,” you say again, incapable of any other thought, really, because out of everyone else he’s probably the one who understands the most. He doesn’t have a family, not anymore. He made his own and now his family is his pack.

You sniff and, okay, maybe it’s more sniffle than sniff, and you should be horrified at yourself for crying right now. Maybe it’s the drugs, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’ll probably be embarrassed at yourself in the morning.

Derek is looking at you with his freaking soul-piercing eyes, because no kidding those eyes could kill. There’s photo evidence of it in his files, the one of his mugshot. You swipe a hand across your eyes and sniffle one last time, and okay, maybe you’re embarrassed now.

He’s gracious about it, though, because this time he turns away. “Come on.”

“Where-” you begin, because Derek climbs into the front seat and starts the car.

“You’re not staying at the hospital.”

“Yes I am,” you protest. “Done it before. With Lydia.”

“Maybe,” Derek says, “but not now. The others already know where we’re going. If I’d bitten you, you’d be coming with me anyways. You can’t walk into a hospital with a fresh bleeding wound and expect no one to notice.”

Probably why he left his car keys with Issac, then. It makes sense now. You wonder if this is something you should care about- going who-knows-where with a potentially dangerous werewolf- and decide that you can care later.

 

\---

 

You wake, sweating.

You’re in a bed, somewhere, blankets around your ankles and no one else in sight. It’s dark and you survey the room as your eyes slowly adjust to the low lighting. It’s the full moon out, which makes the room a little brighter.

The room is just a standard room. Bed in the corner, bookshelf in the other corner, closet, tv, and you know that by now the drugs have worn off because everything’s a lot clearer now. Sharper. Extremely vivid.

You still don’t notice the flash of red in the corner of your eye, and that you blame on sleep drowsiness. Before you can react, Derek jumps on top of you, and you claw at him with your pathetically human fingernails. He growls. You’re absolutely, positively, fucking shit-your-pants-in-fear terrified, in a room during the full moon who-knows-where, and no one knows where you are.

He’s got you pinned to the bed, his legs resting on either side of your waist, and you try to kick him off, which does nothing except maybe make him angrier. He snarls, pins your arms above your head with one hand, and you swear you saw this in a scene of some movie, or tv show, you can’t remember which, with some sort of sexual assult situation going on-

Derek brings his face up to your neck and his teeth- werewolf teeth- are bared.

“The bite,” he growls.

“No,” you choke out, gasping. “No, no-”

He licks the sweat off your neck, up, slowly, so slow-

Tracing his tongue up to your temple, and then he licks his lips, and it sends shivers up your spine-

Everything’s disjointed again-

You feel like, like you have no idea what’s going on-

But it’s clear, you can hear so clearly, when he whispers in your ear, “Too late.”

And he lifts up your shirt where the flesh is torn and mangled and it’s so red, so much blood and now you can smell the metal in the room, iron or maybe copper, and in the moonlight you can see so clearly, and you’re bleeding, bleeding, bleeding- it’s red, Derek’s eyes are red, and he smiles, and his teeth are red.

 

\---

 

This time, you wake gasping.

“Oh my god,” you say aloud, scrambling to sit up and lift your shirt. Nothing- no bite- and you almost want to cry in relief because Scott was completely right and this is _not_ something you want. You run your hands over the skin on your side, not red and not broken, not so much as a scratch. You look out the window. The moon isn’t full.

For a second, you just sit there breathing. It feels like you just ran a marathon, your heart is racing so fast, and you wonder whether it’s possible to burn calories in your sleep. You’ll have to research that later.

You catch your breath quickly, and you wonder how many times you’re going to find yourself out of breath now that you’ve got yourself involved with all the werewolf crap.

You swing around, your legs off the bed, and look at the room. The same as in your dream, and now you’re remembering. Only faintly. Arriving at this house, late last night, being carried in by Derek. Asking for more blankets and a glass of water, which sits untouched on the table at your side.

Grabbing the glass and taking a sip, you debate getting up. The rumbling of your stomach decides for you, and you stand and wobble a little on your feet. Vertigo, you think, and you think of Lydia. “Vestibular system of the inner ear,” you repeat to yourself, and then grimace when your head begins to pound.

You can’t tell whether your headache is from the alcohol or the drugs or your dream, but either way it’s a killer headache, so you make your way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Nothing’s in the cabinets, no real food, so you settle for making coffee. While you wait, you drop down into a chair and rest your head in your arms on the kitchen table.

“Stiles,” Derek says from behind you, and you turn. He’s far too put together for- you check the time- 7 in the morning.

“Oh. Did I wake you?”

He shrugs. “If your noisy clambering didn’t, the coffee would have.” He draws open the curtains and you groan loudly as the sunlight reflects off the fridge and into your eyes. Your head throbs painfully.

 “Noooo,” you say, and you throw a plastic cup at Derek’s head. It misses the target, but he growls and leaves the room anyways.

“Oh my god, sour wolf,” you call out after him, but your voice is muffled when you bury your head in your arms again. You wish you could brood about something but your head hurts too much and your ankle is still sore and you’re also hungry. It’s distracting.

“Sour, sour, sour, like a lemon,” you mutter to yourself.

“A lemon, huh,” Derek says as he comes back into the room. You swat at the air in his general direction without lifting your head.

“Fine, not a lemon. You’re like a milder citrus. An orange.”

“I’m a sour patch kid,” he says, and Derek’s voice saying that sentence- completely seriously, or at least you think so- is the funniest thing you’ve heard all day. Or all weekend. You laugh so hard it shakes the table and makes your head hurt even more.

He waits for your laughter to subside, his face expressionless. You’re still not sure if that was a joke. When you’ve stopped laughing, because it’s pretty awkward to laugh by yourself with someone watching you, he raises an eyebrow. “Finally,” he says, and you grin.

But of course your body decides to remind you about the pain in your head.

“Here,” he says, and pulls out some aspirin, which is actually probably why he left the room. He tosses it to you but you don’t catch it, so you have to fumble around on the floor for it, and then fumble again to get the cap open. By the time you’ve got a couple pills in your hand, Derek’s ready with a glass of water. You nod at him, thankful, and gulp down it down.

He sits next to you, passing over a cup of coffee, which, okay, you’re way more than thankful now, you could kiss him. You both drink in silence until you clear your throat.

“Could we uh… could we go back? To the hospital?”

Derek nods. “Let’s grab breakfast first.”

“Yeah,” you say, and before you can even say anything else Derek’s got the car keys in his hand.

 

\---

 

Scott’s there, at the hospital, and before you can even see your dad he’s pulled you into a hallway, up against the wall, and he’s lifting your shirt.

“Woah, buddy, I know I’ve got a great body, but-”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Shutting up.”

He sighs. “So you didn’t take the bite.”

You shake your head. “I was out of it. They gave me… I don’t know, slipped it into my water, made me woozy. You were right. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Scott lets go of you and runs his hand through his hair. “Right. Good, that’s good.”

“No ‘I told you so?’”

He grins. “Yeah, told you so. Finally. I’ve been waiting for this day for years, you know.”

“Because I’m right most of the time,” you say, smiling back at him.

“Not all the time.”

“Ninety-nine percent of the time,” you say, and he might’ve been angry at you before but not anymore, and that’s good, that’s great because you have no idea who you’d talk to if you couldn’t talk to Scott or your dad.

 And that brings you back, your smile fading. “So, my dad-” you begin, and Scott nods, his face solemn too.

“He regained consciousness earlier. He’s back to sleeping now.”

“What’s... what happened to him?”

“Concussion, broken ribs, broken leg,” Scott says, and you wince a little.

“He’ll be okay, right?”

Scott nods. “Stable condition. You don’t have to worry,” but that’s stupid because you’re definitely going to worry no matter what.

But- but this is good. Your dad’s going to be alright, and that’s what’s most important.

You go see him- Scott’s mom gives you a sympathetic nod- and hold his hand for a while as another nurse frets over him. Scott talks about Allison for a while, about school and lacrosse, and you’re grateful that he’s steering clear of any serious topics. Joking is appropriate, then, and the two of you can laugh and not feel guilty. You don’t know exactly how long you take, but by the time you and Scott meet up with Derek in the parking lot, the sun’s already high in the sky.

“Alright?” Derek asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “Alright.”

The three of you go get lunch at a skeezy Mexican place somewhere by the hospital and eat in almost companionable silence. Scott asks for a ride back to his place and Derek says whatever, and when you get there Allison’s waiting.

For a moment you wish Scott would stay with you, because you could really use someone to talk to, later. But girlfriends come first, and so you say nothing. Derek, on the other hand, fumes the whole ride home- at least, home for now. Really it’s just a crappy rundown house off by the woods that Derek said belonged to Peter Hale.

Anyway. Derek fumes. He’s an angry guy, and when he’s angry, he’s scary. Basically, he’s scary most of the time.

He drives recklessly and you’re a little worried about the safety of your jeep but you don’t say anything because you’re definitely not stupid enough to go around provoking angry werewolves. Most of the time, at least.

You do say something when he slams the car door so hard it dents.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and you look at him in disbelief.

“No. No! This is not okay.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not the prob- okay, well, yeah that sort of is the problem. But seriously, what’s got you so angry? You didn’t have a problem with Scott and Allison before.”

He scowls. “That was before the Argents practically declared war on werewolves.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure they’ve always been at war with werewolves.”

“No. Not like now.”

“You mean the whole moral code thing? Because I’m pretty sure only Allison’s dad follows…” you say, but something occurs to you. You should have realized it from the start. “Hold on, is that… that’s why you’ve only been turning high schoolers? So there’s a chance someone will take pity on them? Follow the ‘moral code?’”

Derek grimaces. “Better chance of survival.”

“Oh my god, okay.” You have to… sit down for a little. Or something. You prop yourself up on the hood of the jeep. “Well at least that’s a reason. Now I know you’re not one of those, I don’t know, those graduates that sometimes hang around after school and try to hit on freshman girls.”

“I’m not that old.”

“Twenty one! You’re old enough to drink. Well, legally.”

He shrugs. “I don’t go around picking up freshman girls.”

“Sophomore girls, then, because you and Erica totally have something going on, and you do realize she’s sixteen, right. Like, that’s creepy, Kate-level creepy, and-”

You shut the hell up pretty fast when Derek’s hand gets intimately acquainted with your throat.

He bangs your head back against the jeep, and you’re lying flat on the hood of the car. Maybe you were asking for it because you knew he was angry- but not that angry. Not angry enough to pin you down- and your mind is racing, because this scenario is edging closer to what happened in your dream the night before. You’re also trying to figure out what you said- Kate? But you’d brought her up, before, and Derek never-

“I’m. Not. Like her. Not like _that_ ,” he spits.

You try to swallow but at the moment you can’t even breathe.

“If Scott wants to go down that path and go date a future murderer, then fine. Fine! Let him make that mistake! Let him be responsible for the death of everyone he loves!”

He lets you go, and you’re gulping air as fast as you can. Derek’s gone from silent anger to yelling back to silent anger and now he’s breathing harder than usual, which is weird because you’re pretty sure you were the one being choked.

You haven’t seen him lost control like this, not even when he’d been half crazed with the wolfsbane bullet, threatening to cut off his own arm. And all you’d said was-

Oh my god.

“…You and Kate?” you whisper in quiet disbelief, and Derek whips his head around to face you. His eyes are a dangerous color that makes your stomach twist in uneasiness.

“What of it.”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say quickly, holding your hands out in front of you, and Derek turns away again. It’s a few moments before he speaks.

“I trusted her, and she killed everyone. _Everyone_. I was too young. And stupid. Sixteen, and she was… older.” He grimaces. “And an Argent. I should have known better. _Scott_ should know better. And none of you are ever going to know what it’s like to watch your family die and feel responsible!” He’s yelling now and yeah this is just weird, this put-together man losing control in front of your jeep on a Sunday afternoon, normally so calm and collected and now he’s shouting and it feels _wrong_.

You breathe out in a sort of, ‘oh man, that’s bad,’ way, but he’s wrong. He’s wrong because it’s happening right now, your father nearly dead because of you, and you say so. “Yeah, actually… maybe I kind of do.”

Derek turns to you and he’s shaking, just a little, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or sadness or what. You put a tentative hand on his shoulder, and without any warning he grabs your wrist and flips you forward, smashing you into the street.

Okay, that rates a nine out of ten on the most-painful-things-you’ve-experienced scale. Holy mother of freaking Jesus Christ, ouch.

You just kind of… lay there, facedown on the pavement, head rolled to the side and you can only see Derek’s shoes. He curses quietly and pulls you to your feet, and owwwwwww, but you guess he’s examining you for anything broken. You feel blood trickling down from your nose and you probably look really stupid right now but you feel too bad to care.

Derek doesn’t apologize. Instead, he tells you, “It’d hurt less if you had the bite,” and you hear the underlying question in it- ‘do you still want it?’

“No,” you say after a second. “I’m good.”

That’s when you start coughing up blood, of course, and Derek comes up behind you, supporting you with his arms under your shoulders, and drags you into the house.

 He lays you down on the couch and at least you’ve stopped coughing because it’s a nice couch, but then again, he threw you into the pavement so maybe he deserves blood on his couch. He pulls up a chair beside you, hands you a glass of water, which you swat away. You turn over so you’re facing the couch because that’ll definitely show him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s pretty unexpected, okay, woah. You turn to face him again and he should be happy since that takes a lot of effort.

“What for?” you ask, and maybe you’re pushing it. Just a little.

He rolls his eyes. “For… saying you didn’t understand. Maybe you do. I didn’t think about it.”

You… okay, what? “Wait, wait, okay, not that I don’t appreciate the apology but you kind of went werewolf on my ass and drove me into the ground,” you say.

“Yeah, I’m not sorry for that.”

“What? No.” You sit up so your face can be level with his, instead of his crotch.

“You deserved it.”

“I did not!”

He looks at you like you’re a… I don’t know, kitten. Or maybe a puppy, that’d be more appropriate.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head in what looks like fond exasperation. It reminds you of your dad and you can’t even believe it because it’s Derek Hale. You weren’t sure he was capable of any sort of fond emotion. “What am I supposed to say to that? ‘Did too?’”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Did, too,” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a little kid. You stifle a laugh.

“Okay, okay, I admit defeat. I did too deserve it,” and you hold up your arms in surrender.

“Glad you see things my way. Now go take a shower. You reek.”

You sniff at your underarms experimentally and oh man, he’s right. “Except I’ve got no clothes, dumbass. We could go back to my house, or-”

“You can wear mine.”

“They won’t fit.”

“Good. You’ll know how it feels, then,” and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches for a second in a smile.

 

\---

 

Somehow you’ve found yourself having another little sleepover at Derek’s, when you had every intention of going home. Home sounds nice. It sounds like comfort and your clothes and your dad.

Then again, your dad’s not there, and you know that without him the house would be empty.

So instead of going home, you spend the day playing LIFE. The rest of the pack eventually shows up from their respective homes- actually, they’re all staying at Boyd’s house- and the whole afternoon is spent doing nothing. You’d think that with everything going on, they’d want to be productive, but even Derek is content with staying home and playing board games.

You suspect he’s only doing it so Scott will get mad at him later, and then Derek can yell at him for being a hypocrite and spending the day with Allison. It’s almost creepy how easy Scott and Derek are to read, even though they come off as all mysterious and spooky at first.

Sticking your tongue out when you spin a ten and advance past all the other players isn’t mysterious or spooky, though. You decide to just count that as one more weird thing Derek’s done today. Maybe it’s because Erica brought beer and you’ve all had some. Or maybe you’re just learning more about him.

Over the next few hours you also learn that Issac cheats by pulling extra bills from the bank, all slick and thinking people don’t notice. You learn Boyd is majorly competitive when it comes to board games, and actually really lucky with his spins. You learn Erica turns against the good players in an effort to bring them down when she slaps you with a $100,000 lawsuit after you’d just gotten a payday. You’re also still pretty scared of her.

And so after your third game of LIFE and your second beer you look up at the clock and it’s already 10:00. Which, yeah, that should concern you since tomorrow you’ve got school and an Econ test you didn’t study for.

“Uh, guys, it’s like… ten. I think I’m gonna go to bed,” you say, and Erica scoffs.

“So early? You planning on going to school tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yeah, kind of,” you say.

“I’m not going,” Boyd says.

“I’m a fugitive,” Issac says.

You roll your eyes and stand up. “Fine, but I’m not gonna miss that Econ test.”

“Aw, no, that’s tomorrow?” Boyd asks, and when you nod he moves to stand. Except Erica gives him the evil eye and slowly he sinks back down. The girl is absolutely terrifying. You don’t blame him.

“Whatever,” you say, not looking at Erica and not listening to Derek calling you a sore loser. You head towards the bedroom. The bed’s in the same state you left it the night before, which doesn’t surprise you, but you let yourself get mildly annoyed anyways.

Either way, you eventually climb in and pull up the covers. It doesn't take long for you to get to sleep, all thing considered. You dream of your dad and blood and being in bed with Derek.


End file.
